


Yondu Week 2020

by LoveisYonduBlue



Series: Yondu Week [4]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24592474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveisYonduBlue/pseuds/LoveisYonduBlue
Summary: It's that time of year again! Yondu Week 2020. 7 days, 7 different writing prompts.
Relationships: Kraglin Obfonteri & Yondu Udonta, Peter Quill & Yondu Udonta, Stakar Ogord & Yondu Udonta
Series: Yondu Week [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1387837
Comments: 59
Kudos: 58





	1. Day One: Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yondu makes the most important decision of his life.

Yondu’s not exactly sure _when_ he decided it.

Maybe it was when he dropped off the fifth child, Zoola. When he touched down on Ego’s planet, he noticed, not for the first time, that there was no sign of the girl’s sisters or brothers. No sounds of distant laughter or play. A dread, one that had started off as a small itch in the back of his mind, began to grow like a tapeworm in his belly.

Or perhaps it was when he pulled Ego aside. As the Celestial’s most recently delivered progeny, Evir, went skipping off to chase jewel-colored bubbles in the flowered field beyond, Yondu flat out demanded to know what had happened to the seven other children he’d delivered. Ego had laughed. To this day, the memory of the sound makes his stomach roil.

“They’re gone,” the Celestial had said with a slight shrug of one shoulder. “Dead. Buried.” He made a fleeting gesture to the ground. “They couldn’t serve their purpose. But don’t worry, it didn’t hurt,” he says with a chuckle. “They were just bad cargo that outlived its usefulness and had to be discarded. As a Ravager I’m sure you can understand that. Am I right?” With a clap to Yondu’s shoulder that made him go stiff, Ego had thrown him another maliciously gleaming smile and followed after Evir.

Or maybe it was when he read the name on the holopad, the cracked frame of which he held in shaking hands. None of the information, be it the child’s name or the coordinates of its home planet, meant anything to him whatsoever. Just another tiny pain in the ass from a little mudball planet in the middle of nowhere. But there was a chance, gleaming like the faintest sparkle of a far-off star, that he could do something this time.

Or it could have been when they bring the child on board. The boy is screaming like a banshee, yelling something about his mother, and his face is red, wet and streaming with tears. He puts up a hell of a fight for such a scrawny little thing, even managing to give Kraglin a good crack in the arm with one lucky kick. As Yondu himself gets him into a headlock and manages to get some sedative pumped into his arm, the boy’s tear-filled gaze meets his.

For a second, Yondu can _feel_ the terror and pain emanating from the child’s blue-green eyes, and maybe, just maybe, he even remembers what it was like to be so small, so afraid, and so utterly alone in the universe.

Whatever the reason, whenever the moment of the decision; it doesn’t really matter in the end.

As he carries the small, unconscious Terran child in his arms to the Med Bay, he knows for certain that he _has_ decided and will stick with that choice even if it kills him:

He will _never_ deliver Peter Jason Quill to his father.


	2. Day Two: Protect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When his First Mate gets attacked at a Ravager meeting, Yondu steps in.

As Yondu passes into the once-grand hall, he glances sidelong at Kraglin, who walks at his side.

The hall, mostly in ruins today, was once the home of one of Stakar Ogord’s ancestors, and now serves as a secret meeting place in neutral space for the 100 Ravager Captains and their lieutenants. It’s Yondu’s first meeting in over two decades, and Kraglin’s first ever.

The fact that Kraglin is even here at all means a lot to Yondu, though of course he’ll never say as much. He knows how much Kraglin dislikes Stakar Ogord, because of the way Yondu was exiled; he hasn’t quite forgiven the Ravager Admiral, even after they were brought back into the Ranks. He knows Kraglin isn’t here by choice, and that there are million places he’d rather be. But even though Yondu does not hold Kraglin responsible for the mutiny, his duty as First Mate is not something Kraglin will never compromise ever again, and he is determined his loyalty will never come into question either, so here he is.

They’re both dressed in their best Ravager uniforms, cleaned up as well as they can be. As they enter the large open room at the end of the hall, they are greeted by the sight of nearly 100 Ravager lieutenants lounging about at a mix of long tables and chairs.

“Hey Blue!” a clear voice rings out over the chatter. They look to the source of the voice to see Martinex T’Naga seated on the other end of the room. He jabs a crystalline thumb at the large, heavy doors behind him. “They’re starting up in a couple minutes.”

“Right.” Kraglin remains at his side until he reaches the doors. Yondu pauses with his hand on the knob, licking dry lips and trying to fight down what feels like a bag of orloni scrambling around in his chest. _What am I doin’ here? What if I screw up again? What if they realize they made a mistake and send me back into exile?_

“It’s gonna be fine, Cap,” comes Kraglin’s reassuring murmur, as if the man were reading his thoughts. “I’ll be right out here waitin’.”

He glances up into his First Mate’s eyes, and words, ones that he hasn’t thought about is so very long, drift back to him through the years. _Yer my Cap’n, sir. I have yer back._

At least out here, there’s someone he can count on and come back to; someone that will never desert him; and that calms the orloni in his chest a little. “Thanks, Krags.” he says softly, and straightening up, pushes his way inside. Just as he goes, his ear catches a snatch of conversation behind him.

_“Udonta’s First Mate is a fucking Xandarian?! What a joke.”_

The comment makes his lip curl, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Before him, at a series of tables arranged in a large square, are the 100 Ravager Captains. Stakar and Aleta sit next to each other at the head, with Krugarr and Mainframe on Stakar’s left, and Charlie on Aleta’s right. Next to Charlie is the only empty seat in the place.

 _< Welcome, Yondu. It is good to have you back with us,>_ comes Krugarr’s warm, soothing voice in his head, and most of the other Captains turn in their seats to look at him. He nods at them in greeting, and wordlessly takes his place at Charlie’s side.

The meeting is a long one, full of discussion on mission tactics, ship rebuilds, possible alliances, and recruitment needs. It’s informative and helpful, and not once is Yondu made to feel like he shouldn’t be there among the others. It’s a comforting and freeing feeling, and when the meeting is finally over and he rises to retrieve Kraglin for the supplemental meeting, he’s feeling more confident than ever that he’s right where he’s supposed to be.

Some of the Captains are going out for a drink on a nearby moon after all the formalities, and Charlie told him to bring Kraglin. He’s looking forward to sharing a well-earned drink with his First Mate and has just emerged into the other room to summon him for the meeting when he stops short.

Kraglin is seated between Martinex and Boudica, Aleta’s lieutenant, both of whom rise swiftly as Yondu appears. Kraglin himself also rises, but more slowly, and Yondu can plainly see why. He’s got a black eye and purplish-blue bruising along his jaw, a busted lip, is bleeding from a cut on his forehead, and must have a busted rib, the way he’s holding his arm against his chest.

Yondu can barely contain his rage as he steps forward, clenching trembling fists. “What. Happened.”

Kraglin opens his mouth to reply.

“Don’t ya fuckin’ lie to me, boy, and tell me it was nothin’!” Yondu growls, and Kraglin closes his mouth again, swallowing.

“Baxu’s First Mate,” Martinex interjects quietly. “Zerga. We didn’t realize what was happening until a crowd had formed. I’m sorry, Yon-”

Yondu raises a hand to cut him off, and whirls on his heel. “Baxu!” he roars.

The A'askvariian Captain emerges from the meeting room, surveying Yondu with dull pink eyes. “Udonta,” he acknowledges in a disinterested voice.

“Ya best point out yer First Mate, I have a lesson to teach him.”

“And what lesson would that be?” Baxu asks, an amused smile playing on his lips. A Badoon ambles to his side, a similar smile stretched over his thin scaly mouth.

“Yondu? What’s goin’ on?” Charlie’s booming voice calls.

Yondu takes hold of Kraglin’s upper arm and drags him into view of the Captains emerging from the room. _“This_ is what’s goin’ on. While we’re in there talkin’, Baxu’s First Mate is beatin’ on mine without provocation, and I demand justice. Fightin’ without grounds and durin’ a council meetin’ – if I recall correct, is against the Code.”

“It’s fine, Cap,” Kraglin murmurs. “Ya don’t gotta-”

“Don’tchu start with me,” Yondu hisses, locking eyes with him. “If my own First Mate ain’t gonna be safe at a Ravager council then I ain’t gonna be no part of it!”

Kraglin’s mouth snaps shut at this, and he just stares back with wide eyes.

Silence falls over the crowd, and Yondu sees Stakar and Aleta have just entered. Martinex, whispering, relays the situation to them.

“Baxu,” Stakar says sharply, “Bring your First Mate before Yondu Udonta.”

“Of course.” Baxu doesn’t look so smug now, as he waves a tentacle at the Badoon next to him. “Go on.”

The Badoon doesn’t look very concerned, however, as he steps forward towards Yondu.

“Yer Zerga?” Yondu asks, stepping forward. The Badoon nods. “What the hell kinda problem you got with my First Mate?”

“The kinda problem we all should have. No Xandarian has a place in the high Ranks,” Zerga says, making sure his voice is loud and clear. “Xandarians are Corps trash - stupid and weak. He wouldn’t even fight me back. Tell me, uh – _Obfonteri,_ is it?” he sneers, looking over Yondu’s shoulder at Kraglin, “How many times did you have to sleep with your Captain before he made you lieutenant?”

There’s not even space for a heartbeat or a single breath before Yondu seizes the back of Zerga’s neck and hurls him to the stone floor face-first. Yondu puts a boot on the Badoon’s back, ensuring he stays in place, then whistles between his teeth. The arrow flashes from its holster to rest its point against Zerga’s temple where it slowly spins, drilling slightly into his scaly skin.

“Git this through yer head, or I’ll put my arrow through it,” Yondu snarls, raising his voice so everyone can hear. “Kraglin Obfonteri does not sleep around to get what he wants. He achieved the rank of First Mate through years of his own hard work and his loyalty to not only the Flame, but to _me._ He is smarter than most – smarter than _you_ fer sure by a galactic mile – and he sure as hell _ain’t_ weak. The only reason ya can still use yer legs after beatin’ on him is I ordered him to behave himself and he gave me his word he wouldn’t cause no trouble. Make no mistake,” Yondu says in a raspier, thundering voice, “This boy could whup yer ass so far into the galaxy ya’d be deep in Sovereign territory by the time he was done! I have a mind to kill ya where ya lie, fer what ya’ve done to him.” He pauses and glances up at Stakar. “But I’ll leave punishment up to the Council as to what they think is proper.” Another clipped whistle, and the arrow flies obediently to his waiting hand.

Zerga slowly rises to his feet, stumbling slightly.

“But jus’ so y’all get the message.” Before anyone can say or do anything, Yondu delivers a savage, crushing blow to Zerga’s jaw. Teeth and blood spew fly from his mouth and he drops to the floor like a bag of rocks.

Yondu glances over to Stakar. “I didn’t come here plannin’ on tradin’ blows. Remember that. Come on, boy, let’s git ya to Med Bay.” Kraglin falls in step behind him, and they depart the hall.

* * *

“Expected them to be sayin' things behind _my_ back,” Yondu grumbles as he applies an antiseptic spray to the gash on Kraglin’s forehead. “Didn't think they'd attack _you_ directly, boy. That ever happens again, ya have my full permission to kick their gutless asses. Self-defense, ya hear?”

“Aye Cap.”

“Good. Now sit still, breathe shallow while I get this on ya.” With utmost care, Yondu peels and sticks on a medicated healing patch to the spot where Kraglin’s ribs are thankfully just badly bruised, not broken. “There. Lemme get ya some meds, and then ya should be good to go.”

Yondu turns and crosses to the cabinet, flinging open one then another. “Hell, I can’t wait until we find a proper flarkin’ medic fer this ship. Ah, _there_ ya are.” He pulls a bottle of pills and knocks a couple into his palm. “Here.”

Kraglin swallows them down, but makes no move to get up. “Cap? Can I ask ya somethin’?”

Yondu sighs and throws himself into a nearby chair. “Yeah?”

“What ya said…’bout if I ain’t safe at a Ravager council then y’ain’t gonna be part of it…”

“Yeah?”

His blue eyes are full of confusion. “What did ya mean?”

Yondu cocks his head at him. “What? Whatcha mean, what did I mean? Whatcha think I meant?”

“Sounded like ya were sayin’ ya’d give up yer place in the Ranks…fer me.”

“Damn right.”

Kraglin’s eyes bug at him. _“Cap’n?”_

 _“Kraglin.”_ Yondu says firmly. “Listen. Stakar, Aleta, Marty and the rest - they’re my family. Only one I ever had. Until you and Quill, that is. Took me longer than it should’ve to figure that one out. But look here. I was _exiled_. Not a one of the Clans stuck by me fer the last 25-some years. _You_ did. Between them and you?” He pauses, nodding his head. “I’d choose you every time. Because I know I can depend on ya, I know ya got my back, just like ya always have.” He gets to his feet, and gently claps Kraglin’s shoulder as he passes by. “And I got yers. I will always protect ya, son. Count on it.”


	3. Day Three: Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ego sends bounty hunters to retrieve Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The nice thing about Yondu Week is that I get to revisit little bits n’ pieces and drabbles I’ve written over the years and flesh those ideas out. This is one of that’s been sitting in my documents for quite some time. I tweaked it a bit, and it turned out quite different than how it was intended.

“Who sent you?" Yondu snarls, slamming the man's head against the bar. "Where the hell is the _kid?"_

It had only been a feeling that something was wrong at first, a persistent nagging at the edge of his mind and inside his chest. Then, as he started looking around, picking out faces and movements in the crowded bar, he’d noticed the out-of-place garb and edgy mannerisms of the masked man near the exit. It was at nearly the same moment that he realized he couldn’t hear Quill – and looking around wildly, realized he couldn’t _see_ him either.

So now all his attention is on that masked man, who he now has in his grasp. A bounty hunter, according to the organizational tattoo on his neck. Yondu is so angry and preoccupied with getting information (and secretly so worried about Quill) that it didn't occur to him, as it should have, that the bastard would have a partner.

That is, until said partner comes flying head over heels onto the floor next to him, and a knife clatters out of their grasp. Kraglin stomps a metal-shod boot on the second bounty hunter's chest, preventing them from rising, and trains a blaster on them.

"Ya good, Cap'n?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah, I think I'm 'bout done here." Yondu whistles, and what’s left of the bar’s patrons fall silent. "Last time I'm gonna ask. _Where is the damn kid?"_ The arrow buzzes angrily near the bounty hunter's eyeball, then flicks to the side cutting the mask apart, leaving a thin trickle of green blood running down the now exposed side of his face. His eyes widen.

 _"WHERE?"_ Yondu roars, and the arrow hums angrily. Sweat drips down the side of the bounty hunter's face.

"He can't talk! He's a mute!" gasps the second bounty hunter from the floor, a female, regaining her breath. "Ego sent us. The kid's being taken back to our ship. Docked on the north side, an KR-47 class."

"How many besides you?" Kraglin barks, pulling her up to her feet.

"J-Just one. He took the kid back to the ship; we stayed behind a few minutes to make sure you didn’t follow."

“Take her outside.”

“Yessir.” As Kraglin walks the second bounty hunter out the exit, there's a sickening splattering noise and the _fwump_ of what can only be a body hitting the floor. Yondu comes out the door a second later, the arrow trailing after him, spattered with green blood.

When the second bounty hunter sees this, she struggles against Kraglin's grasp. "Hey - it's just a money job!” she snaps. “You didn't have to kill him, we're on an assignment!"

"Y'all had a choice not to go through with the job. He's just a boy."

"Yeah - one that _you_ kidnapped!"

Kraglin sees Yondu move and releases his hold on the bounty hunter just in time, so he doesn't get caught in the whirlwind. Yondu grabs her collar violently and pulls her close, so that their noses are nearly touching. "Ya don’t know what yer talkin’ ‘bout. Ya don't know what I saved that boy _from_ ," he hisses through his teeth, giving her a rough shake. The arrow zips back and forth, buzzing agitatedly around his shoulders. "You say one more word 'bout it and I'll slit yer damn throat."

They reach the docks, and the woman nods towards the far end. "It's the grey one with the yellow stripe."

"Okay. You go up, get that boy out. If yer not out in five minutes, I will target that ship and shoot it down."

 _"Shoot it_ \- what about the boy?"

Yondu's lip twitches in a snarl but doesn't answer. "Get goin'. The boy comes out unharmed, mebbe I'll let you live. Any funny business, and you and yer partner in there die." As the bounty hunter slips away, Yondu nudges Kraglin. "Take point behind that red ship over there. She makes any kinda suspicious move, shoot her."

"Yessir."

The female bounty hunter emerges from the ship a few minutes later, leading Peter by the hand. To Yondu’s immense relief, the boy just looks scared, not hurt. Everything is going well, until her partner appears on the gangplank. He raises a gun, and the female bounty hunter's skull explodes. She's dead before she hits the ground. Peter screams, turns tail and runs, but the third bounty hunter is hot on his heels.

 _"Quill!_ 'Member what I taught ya!" Yondu yells.

Peter turns towards Yondu’s voice, face panicked and tear-stained. But as the bounty hunter reaches for him, Peter turns and slams his head forward - right into the man's groin. He cries out, doubles over, and Peter skirts around him, racing away.

“Pete! Over here!” Kraglin shouts, speeding out from his hiding place.

Peter changes direction, heading right for him, and Yondu's arrow tears for the bounty hunter, who's recovered enough to pursue the boy.

Just as Peter jumps into Kraglin's open arms, two things happen simultaneously. The bounty hunter fires a shot, and Yondu's arrow pierces his heart.

The white-hot jet of light from the man’s blaster passes through Quill’s jacket. Peter _screams_ and falls forward into Kraglin’s chest with the impact _._

 _“QUILL!”_ Yondu screeches.

Kraglin, eyes bulging with panic, sets the boy on the ground, patting him for damage. Yondu yanks Kraglin away, taking the boy’s face in his hands. “Quill? Quill, say somethin’ boy!”

Peter, face pale, looks up into Yondu’s eyes. “Yondu!” he sobs, and flings his arms around his neck.

Yondu squeezes him tight for a moment, cradling his head in one large hand, then holds him out again. “Ya hurt, boy? Dammit, answer me!” He sets him down on his feet, and to his horror, sees a neat hole where a blaster shot went through the outside of the boy’s coat. But strangely enough, he doesn’t see blood anywhere on him.

Then Peter gasps.

“What? What is it?” Kraglin asks, his voice high-pitched with fear.

Slowly, Quill pulls out his headphones from where they’d been tucked in his jacket pocket. One of the ear pieces is nearly gone, sizzled off and charred by blaster shot. His eyes well with tears as he glances up at Yondu.

Yondu lets his head drop back, raising his eyes to the sky. _Thank all the gods above and below._ He pats Quill’s shoulder gently. “Don’t start ya start that blubberin’, boy. Yer lucky it weren’t you what got hit!”

“B-but – but my _Walkman!_ ”

Yondu scoops Quill up into his arms, taking the headphones out of his little fingers. He turns them back and forth. “I reckon we can find a replacement, Quill. Don’t ya worry none.” He shifts the boy on his hip so he can look into his face better. “Y’ain’t hurt?”

Quill wipes a sleeve across his nose and shakes his head. “No.”

“Did – did the people what took ya, say where they were takin’ ya or why?” He fights not to hold his breath, though his heart seems to be constricting. _Don’t tell me they told him about his father._

Thankfully, Quill shakes his head. “No. They grabbed me and put tape over my mouth so I couldn’t yell.” He hangs his head. “M’ sorry Yondu. I should have tried harder to get away.”

Yondu pats the side of his face. “Next time, jus’ make sure ya stay right next to one of us, a’ight? And this’ll teach ya to keep better track of what and who’s around ya.”

“Y’ain’t mad?” Quill asks.

“At you?” Yondu asks in surprise. He lets out a little scoff. “No, boy. I ain’t mad atcha. Ain’t yer fault yer so weak and scrawny.”

Quill’s face screws up, eyes narrowed, and he tries to deliver a kick into Yondu’s shin. Yondu just holds him out, away from his body and cackles. “You’ll grow, son. Don’t worry.” He puts the boy down but holds on tight to his hand as they begin to walk. “C’mon. Back to the ship.”

“Who were they, Yondu?” Peter asks, walking fast to keep up with Yondu’s large strides.

“The people what took ya? They were bounty hunters.”

“Oh. Like Boba Fett?”

“I don’t know who that is, boy. But they get money fer kidnappin’ or killin’ and deliverin’ other people.”

“But Ravagers don’t do that, because it’s against the Code. Right?”

Yondu sucks in an involuntary breath, the air sharp in his lungs and he comes to a stop, staring down at Quill. The children he delivered to Ego – all eight of them, Peter’s brothers and sisters – flash before his eyes and it feels like he can’t breathe.

“Tha’s right, Pete,” Kraglin supplies quickly.

“Yeah,” Yondu echoes, squeezing Peter’s hand gently. “Tha’s right.”


	4. Day Four: Unconscious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter looks after an unconscious Yondu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The format of this one is a little different than my usual Yondu Week stories, I hope you like it! Originally inspired by a story suggestion / request made by my friend Giulscomix a loooong time ago. The line “you’re heart-less” comes from her suggestion.

Peter had always hated swimming lessons, but Meemaw insisted that he be given proper instruction, so they went to class at the high school gym pool with all the noisy crying kids Peter wanted nothing to do with. Why couldn’t Pops just teach him, down at the small lake where they went fishing in the summer?

Yep, he hated those lessons. But he’s never been more grateful for them until today as he fights against the river current to keep himself – and Yondu – afloat.

It had been, as Admiral Ackbar had so eloquently stated, _a trap._ What was supposed to be an easy two-man snatch-and-grab job ended up being an ambush by some other band of thieves that 11-year-old Peter had never seen before.

Instead of standing his ground and whistling them all to kingdom come, Yondu had grabbed Quill under the arms and _ran._

He’d run straight into the underbrush, using the arrow to clear a path through the thick foliage; the cleared dirt path they had taken originally had been too risky and probably overrun with their attackers.

They were halfway to the river – on the other side of which lay the _Warbird._ That was when Peter heard the crackling sizzle of blaster shot. Yondu had rocked forward, stumbling in the brush, but Peter didn’t realize Yondu had actually been hit until several minutes later, after they’d reached the water.

Yondu had hastily put him down as shouts sounded behind them. “Ya gotta get to the ship, boy,” Yondu had told him, his voice panting and raspier than normal. That should have tipped him off, Peter thought later. It wasn’t until they reached the shallows of the river and Quill started to see something purplish blue swirling with the clear river water that he realized Yondu was bleeding. Badly.

Yondu had instilled in him, in just three short years, the will to survive. But in those scenarios and drills, Yondu was never _hurt._ As many times as Yondu had told him to save his own skin and worry about himself first, Peter’s mother told him to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, especially those smaller than himself. And while Yondu certainly wasn’t smaller than him, he _was_ injured, and Peter wasn’t. He’d grabbed Yondu’s arm and slung it over his shoulder. “C’mon! You can make it!”

“Let go a’ me, dammit! Run fer the ship! Tha’s an order!”

“Not without you!”

“If ya don’t go this second, Quill, I’mma feed ya to the crew!”

“You can’t feed me to ‘em if you’re _dead!”_

 _“There they are!”_ A voice had yelled, followed by multiple cracks of blaster shot overhead.

Peter had gasped, hauling at Yondu’s duster, but they only got a few steps into the river, picking their way around the slimy, moss-coated rocks when Yondu slipped and went down – and Peter went down with him.

Almost instantly they were swept downstream, and this is where Peter finds himself now, fighting to keep himself and Yondu from drowning. Yondu helps at first, holding Quill’s head and shoulders above the water line, until a rock rears out of the churning foamy water and strikes Yondu on the back of the skull.

He disappears beneath the water for one horrifyingly long moment. Quill thrashes around until his hands close on Yondu’s duster, hauling him above the water again. They’re buffeted about like corks, and it’s only by sheer luck that Peter misses most of the rocks himself.

Dusk is approaching when they finally, mercifully hit a mass of sticks and branches and are diverted onto a sandy embankment. Shivering and panting for breath, Quill manages to drag Yondu’s body halfway on shore by yanking, pulling and heaving on his sopping duster.

Holding his arms around himself, Peter looks around, teeth chattering. _What do I do? What do I do?_

 _‘Calm down. Git yer head on straight. Take a breath.’_ Yondu’s voice echoes in his head from his lessons. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then lets it out, and repeats the process a few times until he feels a little less jumpy. _Now what?_

‘ _Yer surroundings can be yer greatest aid or danger. Tha’s first,’_ Yondu’s voice continues in his subconscious. ‘ _Know yer environment. Issit safe to stay in? Build a camp in?’_

Peter hurriedly climbs a nearby tree and inspects the land from higher ground. There are rocky outcroppings surrounding a grassy clearing, and the whole area is interspersed with trees. No signs of any dangerous flora or fauna – at least that he knows of, as his brain tries to sort through the holopad lessons Yondu assigns him weekly – and more importantly, there is no sign of those other thieves.

He climbs down again.

‘ _Water, food and fire. Those are yer next priorities fer survival._ ’

Water, check. And plenty of branches to build a fire. And he’s still got his 2-day ration pack, standard issue for any mission. Yondu might still have his, too. _Yondu!_ With a gasp, Peter races back to the Ravager Captain, since there is no immediate danger to worry about.

He places a hand down on the Yondu’s chest – he never learned to take a pulse, he’s only 11 after all – and nearly starts to cry on the spot. He doesn’t feel anything. _“Yondu!”_ He shakes his shoulders, but the Captain doesn’t respond. Tears streaming down his face, Peter’s mind races, trying to figure out what to do. There has to be something he can do.

His memories spin back to those swimming lessons again. There had been lifeguard classes going on one day while he was there with Meemaw. Dummies – just the head and torso, had been placed down on the tile at the end near the bleachers, and high school students were doing what Meemaw had called…See-Pee-Arr. She said it was to help save people, but it just looked like kissing, to Peter. But the students had also pressed down on the dummies’ chests with their hands.

Peter kneels down, and with both hands, positions himself over Yondu’s chest. He leans down with all his weight. Quickly once, twice. Then again. He’s worried he might have to kiss Yondu or something – _gross!_ – when Yondu starts coughing. Coughing means breathing. Breathing means he’s alive.

“Yondu?” Peter asks loudly. “Yondu, are you okay?”

The Captain’s eyes crack open for a split second before rolling back into his head again.

Peter breathes shakily. At least Yondu’s alive. But he’s bleeding pretty bad still, so Peter takes off the Captain’s damp neckerchief and puts it against the wound, underneath Yondu’s jacket.

 _Okay. What’s next?_ ‘ _Water, food and fire.’_ Build a fire. He remembers when he’d been part of the Cub Scouts for a year, and Pops had taken him camping with the rest of the troop. They taught him how to build a fire. Piecing this together with what he learned from Yondu, he gathers up some leaves for tinder. _‘Dead ones,_ ’ Yondu’s voice says in his mind. _‘Use dead leaves. The live ones make too much smoke, you’ll give yer position away.’_ Then he gets some twigs for kindling, and some larger branches to burn once it’s going. Using the small blaster Yondu gave him, he ignites the fire, cringing when the shot rings loud and clear into the night sky. Yondu would mark him down for that, probably have him scrub the toilets or clean the vents. ‘ _Don’t draw attention to yerself if yer bein’ chased or hunted. Make as little noise as possible.’_

Peter waits a few minutes, but there’s no sound of anyone out there in the woods, and the small flame that had ignited his leaves is going to die if he doesn’t keep building on it. It nearly goes out three times, but he keeps feeding it leaves and small twigs until he gets a blaze going, and then he continuously gives it big branches until it’s stable.

Grunting and groaning, he grabs the shoulders of Yondu’s duster and drags him nearer to the fire so he can get warm. It takes _several_ minutes. Once he’s moved him close enough, a huffing and panting Peter pauses to angrily kick the bottom of Yondu’s boot. “You need to go on a diet!” he yells at him.

Yondu doesn’t reply.

Peter just rolls his eyes, holding his hands out to the flames. _Now what do I do?_ His stomach growls, so he has some rations out of his pack. While he eats, he stares at Yondu and tears start to well in his eyes. _What if Yondu doesn’t wake up? What if I did something wrong, and I made him worse?_ He shakes his head.

 _‘Ya can’t doubt yerself, Quill,_ ’ Yondu had told him once, when he’d been in despair of ever being able to aim a blaster correctly. _‘Don’t matter if it’s learnin’, fightin’, or survivin’…if ya start to doubt yerself, doubt what yer capable of, then ya won’t succeed. But if ya find it in here-’_ He’d slapped a hand against Peter’s chest – _‘If ya can find the confidence in yerself, then ya can do anythin’ ya put yer mind to. Now buck up and try again. Yer smart. Ya can do this.’_

Peter sniffles and gives Yondu’s form a small smile. “You might be a big, fat blue doofus,” he says out loud, “But I guess you’re right sometimes.” He wipes a hand across his eyes and takes a breath, trying to remember what to do next.

 _‘If yer stranded, then ya gotta make contact with the ship.’_ Peter glances down at his small wrist-com with a sigh. It got busted when he got shoved into a rock by the current. He glances at Yondu. _Maybe his is still working!_

Unstrapping the wrist com and being careful of the knife strapped on the other side, Peter taps the screen. He holds his breath as nothing happens for a second, then it dimly comes to life. He’s been working on his Xandarian and Standard, and he recognizes Kraglin’s name on the screen. He presses it, and the line crackles.

_“Cap’n?”_

“Kraglin!” Peter cries happily. “Kraglin, it’s me!”

_“Pete? Whatcha doin’ on the Cap’ns com?”_

“We got attacked and he’s hurt! Can you figure out where we are and come get us?” He chews his lip as he awaits an answer.

_“Yeah, we saw Vakauza ships in the area. Don’t worry, kid. I got yer coordinates and I’m sendin’ a team now. Does the Cap’n need a medic?”_

“Uh, yeah. I think he got shot and he hit his head on a rock.”

_“Shit. Okay, we’ll be to your position as soon as we can. Just hang tight, Pete, and keep the com close in case we need to get in touch.”_

“Okay!”

Peter holds the wrist com tight in his hands, sitting close to Yondu and staring up the sky. Any minute, the _Eclector’s_ M-ships are going to come and save them. He stares up at the darkening sky and the twinkling stars so intently and for what seems like such a long time that he nearly jumps out of his skin when Yondu starts coughing next to him.

_“Yondu?”_

“Sh-shit. Quill? Where…where – _gods_ my _head.”_ He groans as he slowly sits up, then takes in a sharp breath, slapping a hand to his side. “Where are we?”

“You’re alive!”

“A’ course I’m alive,” he snarls. “Where are we? And why am I wet?”

“We fell in the river and got washed away,” Peter says.

Yondu glances over his shoulder at the river. “How did I get up here?”

“I dragged you. You’re really heavy,” he adds, but decides to forgo repeating the _diet_ suggestion from earlier.

Yondu blinks hard at Quill, as if trying to clear his vision, then looks down at himself, then at the fire, and back at the river. “Ya pulled me up here, and made this fire all by yerself?”

“Yeah. And Kraglin’s on his way to pick us up. I used your Com. Oh, here.” He hastily hands it back, and Yondu takes it in a slightly-trembling hand.

“I thought you were dead at first,” Peter says softly, his voice breaking a little. He averts his gaze from Yondu’s and kicks a stone towards the river. “I couldn’t feel your heartbeat.”

Yondu doesn’t know how to respond to the _I thought you were dead_ remark right now so he asks, “Where’d ya check?”

“Right here,” Peter says, leaning in and putting a hand on Yondu’s chest. He gasps. “I still don’t feel it! You’re – you’re heart-less!”

“Dammit, boy, my heart ain’t on that side! It’s on this side.” Yondu moves Peter’s hand over more towards the right side of his body, and Peter can feel the steady triple _Ba-da-dump_ thumping of Yondu’s heart.

“Oh.”

Yondu chuckles, then coughs again. “Sit down, boy. Kraglin will be here soon, I reckon.” He looks around him again. “Ya did this all by yerself,” he repeats softly. “Guess that means ya _were_ listening to me fer a change.”

Peter shrugs, but gives him a cheeky, blushing smile.

Yondu throws a tired grin back at him, and tousles his hair. “Ya did good, son.”


	5. Day Five: Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yondu saves Quill from a fate worse than death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I reference an entry for Yondu Week 2018, Scarf, in this fic. Here on Ao3, user Name1 commented "I wonder how they discuss the same topic as he gets older. “ This is how.
> 
> Trigger warning: past allusions to rape.

“Thunder got you spooked, old man?”

Yondu turns from the port window, where rain is being hurled against the glass by the screaming wind. The _Warbird_ lies powered down and dark, its dark hull blending in with a shadowy rocky outcropping on the edge of a churning sea.

He makes no answer to Quill’s flippant remark, and instead settles himself on the window ledge, staring out over the dark and turbulent waves.

Peter’s brow furrows. No snapping remark? No threat? No _‘Watch yer mouth or I’ll feed ya to the crew! They ain’t never had Terran before!’_? Not even a scowl or a grunt of acknowledgment? Something has definitely got Yondu uneasy, and that happens so infrequently that it’s got him a little concerned.

Quietly, Peter gets up from the co-pilot seat and sits on the opposite end of the window ledge. “You okay?” he asks, genuinely concerned.

If it weren’t just the two of them, if even Kraglin had been there with them, he’d never dare ask such a perceptibly _sentimental_ question. If the crew was there and didn’t beat and berate him over appearing so soft, Yondu certainly would have. But they’re alone, and deep _deep_ down, Quill’s pretty sure that Yondu would never really hurt him, so he figures it’s safe enough to ask.

He studies Yondu’s face as he awaits an answer. The ruby eyes are dark, once in a while lit up by a flash of blue or green lightning through the window. His gaze is distant, as if he’s looking past the storm clouds into something much more sinister.

He is silent for so long that Quill finally sighs and starts to bring his Walkman’s headphones up from where they’ve been hanging about his neck – then stops as he sees Yondu open his mouth.

“Ya remember when ya were jus’ a lil’ un? We was on a mission and ya fell over a wall and broke yer arm?”

Peter’s brows draw down in confusion, his mind racing in all directions to try and figure out where Yondu could possibly be leading with this, but decides to play along. “Yeah, we were runnin’ from the Nova Corps.”

A single nod, but the ruby eyes don’t part from the window. “I took ya back to the ship,” Yondu continues, and Peter cocks his head as the Ravager Captain begins unwinding his neckerchief. “And ya asked me ‘bout these.”

Quill plays it outwardly cool, but his stomach clenches slightly at the sight of dozens of circular scars ringing Yondu’s neck, a slightly lighter blue than the rest of his skin.

“Ya remember what I told ya?”

 _Do ya know what slavery is, Quill?_ Yondu’s voice comes back to him, clear as a bell. “Yeah, I remember.”

“It weren’t the storm what made me land, boy,” Yondu says quietly. “I picked up a Kree transmission and took us to ground. We’re jus’ lucky this storm showed up to cover us.”

 _“What?”_ Peter cries indignantly, standing. “You landed us because you were _scared?_ Geez, Yondu. I never took you to be a chicken. We could take out a couple Kree, no problem!”

For the first time since they landed, Yondu shifts his gaze from the window to stare at Peter. The angry flame is back in his eyes, turning them from ruby shades a bright blood-red. “Ya don’t _get it,_ do ya boy?” He snarls, his gold caps glinting in the lightning as he gets to his feet. “Weren’t jus’ a _couple_ Kree! It was a galley ship, headed off to war somewheres! Ya know what they would _do_ to you if they caught ya?”

“Kill me?” Quill asks with a shrug.

“Ya’d be _lucky_ if they killed ya! No! They’d make ya a slave like _that!”_ He snaps his fingers loudly in front of Peter’s face, and the young man backs up a step. “Ya’d be stripped a’ yer clothes and yer things—” He smacks the back of his hand against the Walkman – “Ya’d be strung up in chains and chokin’ on a collar, put to auction, and sold to the highest bidder like a fuckin’ animal!”

Breathing heavily, Yondu turns away, bracing his hands against the window ledge. “I survived it for 20 years, boy,” he says after a long pause. “Forced to fight fer my life in the gladiator arenas and survive as cannon fodder on the front lines a’ their wars. They forced to kill women and children, fer the glory of the _fuckin’_ Kree Empire. And that was bad enough.” He glances sidelong at Quill before averting his gaze again. “But a strong, young, good-lookin’ boy like you? You’d be traded from bed to bed, yer body used over and over without any consideration or consent. And yer soul would be torn away little by little, until ya lost it complete and begged yer masters to kill ya.”

Peter’s first instinct is to protest, to tell Yondu that he’d never befall such a fate; that he would escape the Kree easy. But there’s something in the way Yondu said that last part, something in his hushed voice that betrays a deeper knowledge of the horrors that might befall Quill should he ever get taken. If Peter knows anything, it is that Yondu is not dumb or weak, and he doesn’t exaggerate the abominations of slavery.

Peter has seen the scars on the high end of Kraglin’s back. He’d asked him for years what those were and where they’d come from, and the mechanic-and-then-First-Mate had always replied with a, _‘I’ll tell ya when yer older.’_ When Peter turned fifteen, Kraglin finally told him what they were. Scars from a whip. Kraglin had been a slave under the Skrulls for six whole years. He’d told him about the horrible things the Skrulls had made him see and do, and Peter had thought, at the time, that six years seemed like a lifetime.

Yondu had been a slave for twenty _. Twenty. Years._ Peter isn’t even twenty years old yet, and he feels like his life has been a pretty long one so far. He can’t wrap his brain around what that must have been like, to go day in day out, in chains, carted around and swapped back and forth like a piece of currency. A life of being stuck in a storm like the one outside, cold and afraid, constantly attacked by the rain and lightning, with never a certainty of seeing the sun or clear sky again.

Yondu’s gaze is fixed back out the window, and from this angle, Peter can see the scar that no one talks or dares asks about. The huge, cruel gash that begins at the base of Yondu’s skull and disappears far beyond his coat collar. The Kree had done that to him, and worse. The same kind of Kree that Yondu had saved him from today.

Peter swallows back his feeble, idiotic protests, choosing instead to wait silently for the Captain to continue.

“So yeah,” Yondu says at last with a short, wry laugh, “I _was_ scared, boy. Scared fer _you_. I survived it once, I could do it again,” he whispers, sinking onto the ledge once more. “But I’d protect ya from that life at all costs. _No one_ should go through that. Kraglin did. I did. But you _won’t.”_


	6. Day 6: Misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yondu’s been welcomed back into the Ranks. But he’s not sure he wants back in after all. 
> 
> Continued directly from Yondu Week 2017: Day 3: Bonds.

"Yondu Udonta, I Stakar Ogord, leader of the One Hundred Ravager Clans, in agreement with the Captains of said Clans, and in witness of all present, hereby lift your exile and welcome you - proudly - back into our ranks." He comes forward and affixes the badge to his coat. The ship shakes with the deafening roar of thousands of Ravagers.

Stakar places his hands on either side of Yondu's face, drawing him close. Tears run down his cheeks. "Welcome home, son."

Yondu is numb, his thoughts reeling and his heart pounding as his hand is shaken, his back is slapped, and he is embraced. _Too many people. Too much noise. I can’t – I gotta get outta here._ And he does. Without a word to anyone, he hides himself in the crowds and races away from it all.

After several minutes of searching and some mildly-panicked calls to Rocket, Kraglin discovers that Yondu has returned to the Quadrant. He finds him sitting on the floor in a dark alcove, all alone. After lingering in the doorway for a few moments, he sits by his side. 

"Don't talk," Yondu snaps, then adds softly, “Don’t _leave_ , but don’t talk.”

Kraglin just nods, and after many silent moments, lays a hand on Yondu's shoulder. The Centaurian flinches at the action, then relaxes and pats Kraglin's knee. "Yer always here for me, ain't ya, boy."

"Yessir."

"There you are.”

Yondu looks up to see Stakar standing there in the doorway, and swallows back a cough threatening his lungs but says nothing. 

"You ran off," Stakar says, and his voice holds an edge of pain.

Yondu’s gaze hardens, his lip curling. "Can ya blame me?” he rasps, voice growing louder with every word. “Twenty-five years, Stakar. _Twenty-five years_ , I been waitin' fer this, askin’ fer a seat at the table, askin' yer forgiveness, and I have to flarkin’ _die_ to get it! I _know_ what I -" His voice has raised into nearly a scream now, and he suddenly doubles over, coughing, hacking so hard that Kraglin is sure a lung is going to come spewing out of his mouth at any second. Stakar rushes down the couple steps into the alcove, but Kraglin stands in his way, pounding the Captain's back until he's able to take gulps of air. "Lucky I had this boy at my side all these years," Yondu says, jabbing a thumb at him. "Because ya told me ya'd never let me go, ya told me ya'd always come back fer me - and ya didn't."

Stakar’s face is pale, drawn.

“I ain’t makin’ excuses,” Yondu snaps. “I _know_ what I did. I _know_ I was greedy, I know I was young and stupid, and maybe I shoulda seen what was goin’ on a lot sooner than I did, but the fact is I didn’t. I didn’t realize them kids was gettin’ killed, I thought I was jus’ takin’ ‘em home. The money jus’ kept crew happy. I thought I’d be provin’ to ya that I could run a good crew and keep their bellies full, and deliverin’ kids to a daddy what missed ‘em was jus’ icin’ on the cake.”

He steps forward, pointing a finger at Stakar. “But ya didn't give me a fair trial when I broke the Code! Ya never thought to hear my side a’ the story, ya jus’ took gossip and hearsay and assumed the worst! And as if the realization of what I did to those poor kids wasn’t punishment enough - I still see their lil’ faces every time I close my eyes, but ya had to exile me too! The only lifelines, the only _family_ I ever had, and y’all turned yer back on me! When I needed ya most!” Wheezing, Yondu turns away, and Kraglin sees the shine of a single tear roll down his cheek in the dim light. “We could’a taken Ego down a long time ago, all us Ravager Clans workin’ together. Could’a saved a lotta kids and their mommas from gettin’ killed.” Yondu tears the gold Ravager badge from his coat and holds it in his palm. “This is all I wanted, all these years. But if yer jus’ gonna give it to me because a’ some kinda guilt or somethin’, because I was about to _die –_ then maybe I don’t want it.”

 _“Cap’n-”_ Kraglin begins with a soft gasp, but Yondu holds up his hand, cutting him off.

“Ya can go now, Krags,” he says with a slight cough. “I think what’s left to be said needs to be between the two a’ us.”

Kraglin pauses, opens his mouth as if to say one thing, but decides on an obedient, “Yessir.”

“Yondu,” Stakar begins in a whisper, once he’s sure Kraglin is gone. “It wasn’t just this one thing. That might be the reason we gave the other Clans, but when Rocket asked us to give you Rites, he told us how you’d protected him, and the little Flora Colossus, too. How you weren’t willing to risk their lives or the other Guardians or your First Mate. And he’d mentioned stories Peter had told him, from growing up with you. How you’d raised him, and protected him all those years, keeping him away from his Celestial father. And…while I might have tried to ignore you and – and blot you out of my memory…” The words come strained, halting, and Yondu turns, to see deep anguish in his former Captain’s eyes. “The others secretly kept tabs on you over the years.”

Yondu goes still, pausing for several seconds before he whispers, _“What?”_

“Charlie. Krugarr. Mainframe. And particularly Aleta, couldn’t let you go the way I had. They saw things you’d done. Gone on missions generally considered far too dangerous, to rescue slaves, especially children, from the Kree and Skrulls. Risked your own life, time and again to save members of your crew. How you worked alongside the Nova Corps of all things, to save the entire planet of Xandar from Ronan’s forces. They told me all of this, when I was making the decision to give you Rites or not. I wish…I wish I had heard the accounts before Rocket called. But I didn’t know that anyone was watching you. I didn’t know any of this.”

“And if ya had?”

“Then maybe our meeting on Contraxia would have gone differently.” As if years of compiled grief and guilt are weighing him down, Stakar heavily seats himself. “I wasn’t lying when I said you broke our hearts. Only a couple people in this entire universe ever came close to healing the hurt of my lost children, and you were one of them, Yondu. And when I exiled you, maybe it was more out of anger at myself, for growing so close to someone like that again, for not directing you down what I thought was the right path. Maybe I thought I was protecting you, somehow, sending you away from me. Maybe….maybe everything was my fault.”

Yondu takes in a wheezing breath and coughs hard for a second, then slowly walks over to where Stakar sits, and settles cautiously by his side. “Everythin’ was _not_ yer fault,” Yondu says with a sigh. “Most of it was mine. I was cocky and stupid, and I know I didn’t do ya proud. I was ashamed a’ what I’d done. Still am. Maybe ya could’a done better, but I know I could’a too. Misunderstandings on both sides, I guess,” he says with a shrug. “But regardless a’ what’s happened in the past, _someone_ , _somewhere_ …” He makes a vague motion in the air with his hand, gesturing towards the window, “Thought that I should get a second chance at life. Don’t know why, ‘cause I sure as hell don’t deserve it. But…but I’m here. And you’re here. And I guess…maybe…we could pick up where we left off. Before Ego. I know it ain’t gonna be easy. I know I’m a stubborn, crass, arrogant sonuvabitch with an anger problem, but I’m willin’ to give it a shot.” He affixes the badge to his coat again. “I missed y’all too much to give ya up again.”

This last sentence is spoken so softly that Stakar wonders if he was meant to have heard it at all, but when Yondu turns to him, there are unshed tears in his eyes, and Stakar’s throat has closed up too much to say anything in response anyway. So he just leans in and pulls Yondu into his arms, breathing shakily and trying not to cry all over the man’s duster.

After just a moment’s tight embrace, they both break away, looking everywhere except at each other.

“We should probably…” Yondu begins, a faint purplish blush on his cheeks.

“Go find Aleta,” Stakar finishes. “She’ll be wonderin’ where we got to.”

“Yeah.”


	7. Day Seven: Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yondu remembers teaching Peter to dance.

“So, whatcha think?” Yondu asks, his voice reverberating around the empty ship from where he stands in the middle of the Mess.

“It’s nice,” Peter says, nodding. He puts his hands on his hips, craning his head backwards to look up the several decks. “Nicer than the old bucket of bolts you had before, that’s for sure. Ow!” He rubs the back of the head, which Yondu has just smacked.

“Watch yer mouth. She was a good ship.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Yeah yeah. Look, you have ship-wide music capability right? Because I ain’t visiting unless you do.”

Within the depths of the ship, there’s a faint clang, and a few moments later _You Make Me Feel Like Dancing_ by Leo Sayer starts to play through all the speakers on the new ship. “That kind a’ ship wide capability?” Kraglin’s voice echoes down to them from above.

“Yeah!” Peter shouts back and starts shimmying his hips and snapping his fingers in time.

There’s a loud laugh from above, and a minute later Kraglin comes dancing down the steps, singing along with the music.

Peter dances a couple steps to his right and nudges Yondu with his elbow. “C’mon, old man. Those moves of yours didn’t freeze in the Deep, did they?”

Yondu lets out a bark of laughter. “You wish!” He eases into a steady dance rhythm, and as he does so, his mind flies back through the years.

>>>

They’d touched down on Xandar, and there had been a wedding. Now, Xandarian weddings are huge to-dos, with near-on four or five hundred people in attendance for wealthy families; a crowd made of Xandarians and a whole mix of other races. It’s a perfect kind of celebration to crash, because no one really knows that many people, and this particular one being an outdoor occasion, it’s easy to slip away if the need arises. So, while most of the crew is off in the bars and brothels to be found in the lower towns, Yondu and a small group, including Kraglin and Peter, slowly infiltrate the wedding, their normal Ravager garb replaced by something a little less inconspicuous. There’s free food and booze, and cute girls too, so why not?

Yondu leaves the boys to their own devices, hitting up the bar first, then casually circles the place, swiping finger food off trays and tables. Then he spies Peter. “Oh for the love of the gods,” he sighs. He makes his way towards the fifteen-year-old boy. Fifteen and a half, as he so often reminds him. “What in the hell are ya doin'?”

Peter, who is standing on the enormous dance floor with a pretty young Krylorian woman, looks over at Yondu indignantly. “Dancing, bro.”

Yondu glances at Kraglin, who is seated at a table nearby, working on what looks like his third drink and a plate of snacks.

Yondu shakes his head, holding up his hands. “No. That ain’t dancin’.”

Peter crosses his arms, blushing as the girl laughs. “Oh - oh yeah? Think you can do better, old man?”

“Oh ho! I know I can, boy.” Yondu sets his drink down on the tray of a passing server and approaches the pair. “Shove over,” he says, pushing Peter aside. He bows very slightly to the woman and offers his hand; she blushes and giggles as she slips her hand into his. “When yer dancing with a woman, ya gotta take the lead.” Yondu's feet move effortlessly across the floor, and the woman falls in step. “Make it easy fer her to follow ya. Give her lil' presses on her hands and at her back,” he says, spinning the both of them in a circle, “So she knows which way yer goin'. And fer flark's sake, be gentle.” He lifts his arm and twirls the woman gracefully under it. “Don't get too close and all up in her business unless ya know she wants it. Right, darlin'?” he says with a smile down at the woman, and she giggles again, nodding. “Yer a good dancer, sweetheart,” he compliments, releasing her. “Now Quill, if yer dancin' alone, don't be flailin' all over the damn place. If yer tryin' to get somebody's attention, ya gotta show 'em ya know what yer doin.” He does a fancy cross step, and twirls in time to the music so his long coat kicks up around him. He makes a few other steps, fast and complex, then comes to a stop in front of the woman and gives her a wink.

She giggles madly, throwing her hands over her face.

Peter huffs, mouth pressed in a frown. He stomps over to Yondu. “You never told me you could dance.”

Yondu grins. “I'm the Cap'n. I don't gotta tell ya nothin'. But a’ course I can dance. I'm a Ravager, boy, not a savage.”

Peter rolls his eyes, and points to Yondu's feet. “Okay, show me that again. That little fancy cross-step thing.” Yondu does so, and Peter tries to copy his movements. “Go slower, man. I can't...okay.”

“No no no. Ya gotta put yer hips into it, boy! C'mon, Kraglin can do better than that. Git over here, Krags.”

“Uh - no thanks, I'm good, Cap'n.”

“Now, Krags.”

Kraglin downs the rest of his whiskey in one gulp and with a sigh, gets up from the table.

“Show him yer moves.”

“I don't got moves, sir.”

“Oh shut up. Yes you do, I've seen ya. You took what I taught ya and used it. Yer good. C'mon, let's see it.”

Face nearly as blue as his Captain's, Kraglin swivels his hips and twirls, doing a little sidestep sort of jig. He stops and spreads his hands. “Ta-da.”

Yondu laughs. “Tha's good, but yer too stiff. Loosen up, son.”

“I'll need another drink fer that,” Kraglin chuckles.

“Then get one.”

The dance lessons continue long into the night, the booze flowing. The end of the wedding finds Yondu with Peter on one side and Kraglin on the other, fast asleep with several other wedding patrons in a tented area filled with pillows and cushions. The boys had danced until their feet just couldn’t hold them up anymore, and as Yondu’s eyes finally drift closed, he smiles.

<<<

“What are you smiling about, Dad?” Peter asks with a laugh as the music dies down.

“Huh?" Yondu asks, shaking himself from his reverie. "Oh, nothin’. Jus’ a memory.”


End file.
